Having instinctively snatched her hands from Lachlan’s grasp at the first sound of Theresa’s war cry, Brynne stepped discreetly to the side in order to put the appropriate amount of distance between them. She could all butfeelhis displeasure, but what else was she to do? Announce to the entire ballroom that he’d just proposed and she had…what? Not yet accepted, but also not declined.
Sequestering her upheaval of emotions behind a pleasantly empty smile, she proceeded with introductions. “Lady Theresa, may I present Lord Campbell. An old–”
“Family friend. Aye, so ye keep saying,” he cut in, and were glares possible of doing such things, Brynne feared she would have found herself turned to stone on the spot. He had never looked at her like that before, and it was a struggle not to wither beneath his obvious contempt of what he conceived as cowardice.
Easy for him,she thought with a nudge of resentment. What did he have to lose if they were to become engaged? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. While she ran the very real risk of angering her entire family, from her grandfather all the way to her brother. Not to mention the fallout that would occur with theton. One of their own breaking ranks to marry a Scot who had never made any effort to shield his disdain of High Society?
They’d tear her to shreds.
But did any of that really matter, if she loved him and he loved her?
Marrying Lachlan would take her away from everything she’d ever known, but it would also provide her with things she’d never had.
How was one to evenbeginto calculate such an equation?
“Lord Campbell, Lord Campbell…” Retrieving a fan from between her ample bosom, Theresa snapped it open and waved it in front of her face while ogling Lachlan over the top of it. “Of the Mayfair Campbells?”
“Lord Campbell and his family herald from Northern Scotland,” Brynne explained when it became clear from his stony silence that Lachlan wasn’t going to bother to answer. “The village of Glenavon.”
“Oh,” she trilled. “Howexotic. But where is your kilt?”
“Should I drop me trousers and let ye have a peek?” he said with a dangerous sort of pleasantness that sailed straight over Theresa’s head.
“I am sure that won’t be necessary,” Brynne interceded hastily even as Theresa made a noise caught somewhere between a purr and the sound of a cat hacking up a hairball. “Besides, Lord Campbell was just expressing his farewells. Weren’t you, my lord?”
“Aye,” he said coolly. “That I was. I’ll be making a stop at the town square tomorrow at noon, and then I’m back tae the faraway land of the Scots. Did ye hear, Lady Theresa, that in a few years’ time we might even have the telegraph in Edinburgh? That is, if we ever get steam engines tae pull the lines and the poles we’d need for such a modern invention.”
“You haven’t trains or the telegraph?” she said in dismay.
“Nay,” he said solemnly. “Just lots of sheep.”
Brynne’s eyes threatened to disappear into the back of her skull. “He has trains and telegraphs.” She pointed her finger at Lachlan. “You have trains and telegraphs. The steam engine wasinventedby a Scottish engineer. Without it, Europe wouldn’t have had an industrial revolution!”
His smile was razor-sharp. “Aye, but how will the English continue tae think so highly of themselves if they’ve no one tae step on?”
With that, he walked away, leaving Brynne staring after him with a mixture of exasperation and amusement. Lachlan may have grown up, but so much of the boy he’d been still remained. The boy who had taken on bullies and dared the wrath of an overbearing governess and showed a young girl the stars. The boy who had made no apologies for where he came from or where he intended to go.
“Scotland is a proud country, Lady Theresa.” While Brynne knew that the other woman had meant no harm with her careless ignorance of Lachlan’s homeland, that didn’t mean it hadn’t stung. Especially since Brynne was certain that hadn’t been the first time Lachlan had encountered such a sentiment. “They’ve many agricultural and scientific advancements far beyond our own. It’s much more than just kilts and claymores.”
Theresa snapped her fan closed and tucked it under her arm. “Is he married?”
“Lord Campbell? No, he does not have a wife.” Brynne’s eyes narrowed in suspicion and a spark of jealousy. Which was absurd. Lachlan would no sooner marry Lady Theresa than he would spread his wings and attempt to take flight. But a dog with a bone was naturally protective. Particularly when that bone was six feet of delectable, roguishly handsome Highlander. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason,” Theresa shrugged. “My parents would never allow it, of course. Such a misfortune that the gentlemen who are easiest to look at almost always have something wrong with them.”
“There is nothingwrongwith Lord Campbell.”
“I didn’t mean to imply that there was. Just that, being who is he, Lord Campbell isn’t exactly marriageable material, is he?” She clucked her tongue sadly. “A blessed shame, given how he fills out those trousers. I really would like to see him in a kilt.”
“James Watt,” Brynne said succinctly.
Theresa peered across the room. “Who is that? Is he titled?”
“James Watt was the man who improved upon the first steam engine. He was a Scottish inventor, instrument maker, and chemist. His design adaption enabled the steam engine to produce power at maximum capacity. Without it, our entire railway system would be all but nonexistent.”
“How fascinating,” Theresa said in the absent tone of someone who didn’t find it fascinating at all. “Oh, there’s Lady Wellesley! I must speak with her about her new modiste. Parisian, you understand. Won’t you excuse me?”
“With pleasure,” Brynne muttered under her breath.
